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I wedge the phone between my shoulder and chin, hold one eyelid open, and try to tune out the brightly flickering bulbs while listening to Ivy vent.
“You know how Mom gets about the Christmas cake,” she huffs, irritation sparking in her voice.
Our mother's holiday traditions are set in stone, even with twenty relatives coming over.
I try to calm Ivy down. “You know what she’s like. Let it go.”
“Why is she so stubborn?” Ivy huffs.
“Dad, too. With those two, it's always my way or the highway,” I sigh.
Ivy's right, but trying to change our parents' minds is pointless—a lesson I learned the hard way. Although I don't live at home anymore, the thought of being single and dealing with their nonsense for the rest of my life is depressing.
The tiny lens slips from my fingers, and I fumble the phone. It thuds onto the counter. I quickly set the phone down and switch it to speaker mode—a move I should've made earlier. Ivy hears the noise and stops mid-rant.
“You’re not stressing, are you?” she asks.
“I’m fine, but I can’t talk long, or I’ll be late for the production meeting,” I explain hurriedly.
“Isn’t this the movie our big-shot Hollywood friend is directing?” Ivy asks.
“That’s right.”
I sift through a jumble of hairbrushes and makeup containers, hunting for the damaged contact lens, but it's vanished. Damn. I don’t have spares, and my glasses are in the car.
I give my outfit a final once-over—my best black jeans and a blouse. I smooth out imaginary creases, picturing my hands as Luca's. I imagine him lifting my hem, slipping his hands underneath, caressing my skin.
“Have you caught up with Mr. Tall, Dark, and Brooding?” Ivy asks.
I swallow hard. “Briefly,” I say, fiddling with my blouse.
“Does Luca know about your engagement, Audrey?”
If Ivy could see my burning cheeks, she’d tease me mercilessly. Not what I need right now.
“We’re shooting our first scene this afternoon. There’s so much to do. I’ll tell Luca when the timing's right.”
“Good luck!” she replies knowingly.
I roll my eyes at her tone. “This is a huge opportunity. I should get going—if I nail it, they might consider me for another job.”
Ivy's laughter echoes through the phone. “Nail what—the part or Luca?”
“You're terrible,” I chuckle.
“Take a chance, sis. Who cares what anyone else thinks?” she urges.
“It's complicated. There’s family stuff to consider, not just my broken engagement.”
“Engagement? Come on. You and Brent lasted what, a hot minute?”
“Six months,” I correct her.
“You didn’t love him. You acted out of duty, but if there’s a chance for you and Luca, you need to take it.”
I sigh, torn between obligation and desire. “Easy for you to say. You've always been the brave one.”
“Give yourself some credit. You're trying your best.”
